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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337514">By the Time You Wake, I'll Be Brave</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/djinnj/pseuds/djinnj'>djinnj</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bipolar 2 Disorder, Canonical Character Death, Catholicism, Discussion of Mental Health, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Guilt, Hand waving, Mental Health Issues, Near Canon, Post-Canon, Postpartum Psychosis, Pre-Canon, Reconciliation, Religious Faith, Slice of Life, canon isn't accurate to the real world and neither am I, daredevilexchange, dde2020, hard conversations, have a backstory, the narrative device not the trauma response</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:00:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337514</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/djinnj/pseuds/djinnj</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Matthew had no reason to know anything about her, no reason to know her past at all. Jack had told him she was dead, she had <em>asked</em> Jack to let him believe that, and how curious was the average little boy over a mother he could not remember?"</p><p>This takes place half post-season 3 and half in flashbacks, Maggie's pov. </p><p>Prompts: "I Will" by Mitski. Crochet makes a cameo.</p><p>With thanks to my amazing beta. All mistakes are mine.</p><p>WARNING: The show handwaved Maggie's reasoning and mental health a lot. Instead, I gave her postpartum psychosis and bipolar 2 disorder and closed up some plot holes. Stress is a trigger and Maggie isn't always well, right, or fair, especially in the flashbacks. Please take care if any of these things are difficult for you.</p><p>Specifics:<br/>Ch2: The last paragraph of THEN is a paranoid and delusional episode.<br/>Ch3: THEN has a long depressive episode, and a bit that can read as unintentional self harm.<br/>Ch4: In NOW during the Stick part, sexual abuse of a minor is assumed but is refuted with confirmation of canonical physical abuse of a minor. In THEN Maggie displays hypomania, and smol Matt responds to physical bullying by an older child.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan "Jack" Murdock/Margaret Murdock, Margaret Murdock &amp; Matt Murdock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/gifts">whitchry9</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>NOW<br/>
The office door had a very handsome, very new bronze sign with black lettering and a line of braille below it: Nelson, Murdock, and Page. The sign was rather more elegant than the building, but that was clean and quiet enough, and lacked the pervasive aroma of deli meats, which was a definite improvement. Maggie hesitated, but the decision on whether to knock was taken out of her hands when the door flew open.</p><p>"Sister Maggie! You're just in time!" Foggy ushered her into the waiting area of the office space where Matthew and Karen were also gathered. Maggie took in how they were dressed, old t-shirts and scuffed jeans, and the sparse furniture pushed into the center of the room and concluded they were planning to paint. </p><p>"Foggy, you can't ask her to help paint!" Matthew looked good; healthy color to his skin, his knuckles unbruised, and his posture relaxed and loose. </p><p>"Hello, Sister," Karen said to her, pointedly ignoring the other two as they began to squabble. "What brings you here, today?"</p><p>"Hello, Karen. Matthew told me you were moving into the new office space and I thought I'd come and see when you would be back open for business. There's been some interest in the parish, you know. Oh, and Matthew," she interrupted the rapid fire exchange of But yeses, and How about noes they were indulging in. "Andrew and Jason heard about it and wanted me to give you these." She handed him the keychains the boys had made in arts and crafts and watched Matthew explore the cord and pony beads with his fingertips. "Andrew made the crocodile and Jason made the slice of pizza." He looked nonplussed.</p><p>"Matt, you didn't tell me you had a fan club!" </p><p>"If these are the kids I think they are, Foggy, they saw me in the Infirmary at St Agnes ages ago. I didn't think they knew who I was; it's not like I spent any time with the children. They weren't even supposed to know I was there."</p><p>"Let's just say you made an impression, Matthew. They asked after you and were glad to hear you were better. And since they were already making keychains, they thought you could use an office warming present." His fingers were delicate on the sturdy plastic and nylon. </p><p>"Oh, uh, please thank them for me."  He turned to Karen, "Crocodile or pizza for the master set?" </p><p>"Croc, definitely." She accepted the keychains and clipped the larger one to a plain ring with several keys on it and the other to a single key and then dropped them into a box on the table. "Oh, and here! Some cards with the new address on them. The office opens Monday for walk-ins, but we're also still taking messages to the answering service." Maggie slipped the small stack of cards into her pocket.</p><p>"I'm not sure having pizza on the bathroom key sends the right message." Matt said. </p><p>"Better than crocodiles climbing out of the pipes, which given the world we live in is more plausible than I like to think," Foggy returned. "But Sister Maggie, before I was so rudely interrupted--"</p><p>"Foggy!"</p><p>"<em>Rudely</em> interrupted! Would you have the time to help us pick out some things for the office with Matty, here, while Karen and I start on the painting?"</p><p>"It'll go faster with all three of us."</p><p>"Matt, it's zero-voc but it's still paint. I saw the face you made when Foggy opened the first can. Yes, exactly that face." </p><p>"I've had worse."</p><p>"Buddy, that is not a recommendation. You already helped tape and that's the thing that always takes forever. Karen and I can knock this out before your sniffer has a chance to be further assaulted. And you can make sure the cushions don't have bedbugs; with Sister Maggie's help we'll be ahead of schedule! Pick up lunch while you're at it and give us a call when you're on your way back. We'll eat in the park while the office airs out." Foggy turned to her with a 'do you see this?' look on his face. "So, what do you say to office supplies and take-out?"</p><p>Maggie mentally re-arranged a few things. "How does Thai sound?"  </p><p>Matthew finally conceded defeat with a sigh and a charming smile that she did not trust for one minute. It proved true when they reached the sidewalk. </p><p>"You don't have to stay if you're busy. I can do this by myself."</p><p>"If I were too busy I would have said so, Matthew. Although I am a little curious about what it is I am to do." </p><p>"We need some furniture, mostly chairs for the waiting room and Foggy wants a couch for his office. There's a used office furniture place on Broadway with a good selection, but I'm not great at matching fabrics and finishes. It's not that Karen thinks the sales staff would swindle a blind man, but she doesn't like giving them the chance, either. Foggy just thinks we can get a better price with you along." </p><p>That startled a laugh from her. And then she caught her breath as Matthew took her elbow for the walk to the subway. She knew he noticed, but neither of them said anything and she could pretend that they did this all the time. She cleared her throat from where it was suddenly tight.</p><p>"I didn't really come to bring you keychains," she confessed. </p><p>"That did seem a little unnecessary, although the keychains are great." </p><p>"We only ever see each other at the church and you haven't asked any more questions. I thought, maybe it would be easier away from there. If there were things you wanted to know. It seemed only fair." He tilted his head in that listening way he had, but she had said what she had intended to say.</p><p>Matthew was quiet for a long moment, but it was not uncomfortable. She led him briskly, and she wondered how she had ever missed that he moved like a dancer, light on her arm and anticipating her smoothly despite towering over her. Or, no, she had experienced this before with Jack, who had been incongruously light on his feet for such a large man, and who would follow her without question. That was a difference, of course, and one she had made herself. </p><p>"Should I be worried about what the boys know?"  </p><p>She had not expected him to open with all the grievances of his young life, but she had been braced for something. A bubble of self-deprecating amusement released the tension she had been holding in her stomach.</p><p>"They suspect but they're not certain, and, well we both know how they understand secrets don't we?" Secrets were currency but also a sliver of control for children who had so little of either in their lives.</p><p>He quirked his mouth, rueful. </p><p>The rest of their excursion passed without any deep matters, their conversation pleasant and practical and not very personal, but full of personality nonetheless. She watched which fabrics his hands returned to (few) and which he scrubbed his fingers against his pants after (many). Chairs were chosen, sofas were sat upon (except for one he refused to go near saying that the cleaning had not been good enough), and a delivery for Friday was scheduled. Maggie had spent decades perfecting her 'inquiring silence' and so when Matthew paid for the purchases he mentioned the Endexoprene settlement. The pinch of worry she had had over his finances and the risk it posed to his friendships smoothed away.</p><p>It was not until after lunch in the park when he suggested he walk her back that she realized he did have something he wanted to ask. The bench at the front of the church was too public, so she took him into the church garden where a matching bench sat in front of a large rose of Sharon. Even she could hear the shrieks and laughter of the children playing in St Agnes' schoolyard on the other side of the block. Matthew stood facing the church, head tilted like he was looking at the stained glass, but she could see his eyelids through the side of his glasses, half lowered and aimed at nothing. He clasped the handle of his cane between his hands in front of his chest and just breathed for a long moment. <i>Here it comes,</i> she thought. </p><p>"When I was fourteen there was a few weeks when I wanted to become a priest," he said.</p><p>"You would have made a good Jesuit," she blurted, surprised. He barked a startled laugh. "It's not unusual; most children grow out of it, although some don't. What made you decide against it?"</p><p>"Father Lantom used to talk to me about anger, Righteous anger and the other sort, and I-" he huffed a small laugh, "I thought I could let go of the other sort, but I couldn't. I got into another fight." She felt a pang when she realized she could not recall the specific fight. There had been enough of them that no particular one stood out, and for many the other boy would not admit to it. "Ricky--."</p><p>"Richard Scanlan, two years older than you." Or perhaps she did remember. "You gave him a black eye and a bloody nose and came away with a scratch from the fence in the yard. Which was the only reason we knew about it; we had to give you a tetanus shot." He cleared his throat and she realized she had surprised him. "What did he do? You never said."  His face sobered.</p><p>"He was badmouthing Dad, saying cruel things I can't even remember now. I couldn't let it stand. Thinking back, he probably didn't even know who Dad was, never saw him fight, just heard some gossip and wanted to get a rise out of me. But--" Matthew turned toward her and lifted his chin like he was expecting a blow. "You left him, you left me. You had your marriage annulled by the Church and entered orders. Karen said you said something about postpartum depression? But it takes serious cause for the Church to annul a marriage. It takes years to become a sister and there was only ever Dad's mom for us, no one else. I need to know, I need to hear what he did." </p><p>"Oh." She felt her skin crawl and she went cold, her knees weak. She had to sit down and he caught her hands and helped her to the bench. The look on Matthew's face as he knelt in front of her said she was confirming every worst fear in his darkest imagination. "Oh <em>no</em>. No, Matthew! He did nothing, never think that. He was good and honest and true to me and none of this was his fault!" </p><p>His face crumpled, and she pulled him onto the seat next to her, and spoke firmly and slowly, trying to inject every ounce of sincerity into her words, trying to press certainty into his skin with her grip on his hands. "None of this was your fault either, Matthew. It was mine. It was my ignorance, and it was my bad luck, and it was my poor choices. Never, ever blame yourself or your father."</p><p>They sat quietly, their hands white knuckled together as Maggie realized just how stupid she had been. Matthew had no reason to know anything about her, no reason to know her past at all. Jack had told him she was dead, she had <em>asked</em> Jack to let him believe that, and how curious was the average little boy over a mother he could not remember? The most necessary story now was not something Jack could have ever told their child anyway.</p><p>"I grew up here, Matthew, and I mean that literally. I was also a child at St. Agnes. This church, these people were my family, the only one I'd ever known."  His brows twitched together but his color was coming back. "I first wanted to become a nun when I was eleven. By sixteen, that had changed to simple vows and becoming a sister. I felt the call to serve and I, well I didn't grow out of it."</p>
<hr/><p>THEN<br/>
Maggie did not have a lot to pack and was a neat person after a lifetime of communal living but she checked under the bed and between it and the wall anyway. It would be six weeks before student housing opened at Hunter-Bellvue and her scholarships and work study did not extend to off-campus rent between terms. The decision to conserve the money she had saved from hours at Gristedes was easy. The transitional housing facility St Agnes referred their girls to had enough beds at the moment and it meant she could work more hours at the grocery store until the dorms opened up. She supposed she was lucky that everything she owned would fit in the lockers. </p><p>She felt a little foolish at being so unsettled, as if she were still a child. She knew she was lucky to be able to go to nursing school in the fall at all, let alone so near everything familiar to her. The transitional housing was still in Hell's Kitchen, and once classes started she would only be cross town. If anything, the motherhouse was further away than the college was, out of the city entirely, and she would jump at the chance to be admitted to postulancy right now. But that was a whole four years and a degree away, a forever of time. </p><p>She sat on the bench in the church garden, clicking her lock open and closed over and over as she thought about going in. She had already attended morning mass and said her mental goodbyes, feeling foolish all over again since she would be back on Sunday, like she had all her life. She had spoken to all her friends and mentors and everyone else she needed to speak to, even receiving a few minutes of Sister Katherine's time before she had to meet with the board of governors. Now she was sitting on a bench wondering what to do with herself until she could report to housing. Taking the day off work had been a mistake.</p><p>"That's a very large sigh." She looked up to see the new priest, a Father Paul Lantom. He was in his mid-thirties and despite the already receding hairline he seemed startlingly modern and young compared to Father Allen's seven decades. She had been introduced, everyone had, but he had not been around long enough for her to get a sense of him. Everyone agreed that Father Allen needed the help, though, and that he was doing well so far. </p><p>"Good morning, Father." She had to hand it to him, he had a very good patient silence. It was gentle and non-judgemental, but definitely expectant. "I'm just waiting until I can report to transitional housing. I took off work, but I finished here early and my appointment isn't until 3," she shrugged.  He looked concerned and she hurried to reassure him. "I'm sure they'd let me in if I showed up early, but I don't have anything else to do today, and I'd rather wait here than there."  </p><p>"I see; it's a momentous day, leaving St Agnes. I can offer you a choice of excellent tea bags if you'd like to come in and tell me about your plans."  Maggie smiled, perhaps the first real smile she had had all day.</p><p>"I'd like that, Father. I'm going to become a sister, you know."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>NOW<br/>
Maggie had only rarely regretted her decision to limit her phone use. Checking personal messages a few times a week and eventually borrowing one of St Agnes' cell phones for children's outings and other extenuating situations had been enough for her for most of her life. She was already on call day in and day out to the community she served; everyone knew how to find her.</p><p>She often regretted her insomnia, but that was hardly a choice. </p><p>It was the combination of the two things tonight, though, that resulted in her surprise when she found her grown son while on her way to the Lady altar. He was sitting in the church garden dressed in his black pyjamas and trying to pick gravel out of his back by touch.</p><p>"What on earth are you doing out here?!" She tried not to connect his state with their conversation the day before, but it was hard not to see a link. She had given him a lot to think about.</p><p>"I wasn't sure if I should come in, and then I thought I could do it myself." </p><p>"You're ridiculous; come inside before you give yourself an infection. It's a good thing I know you've had a tetanus shot more recently than 14."  </p><p>"How would you know that?"  </p><p>"Because we gave you one last time since you weren't awake to ask." </p><p>"... Should I even ask about informed consent?"</p><p>"About time you thought of that. Jokes on you, mister vigilante justice. If you didn't trust Father Lantom to make those decisions for you you wouldn't have told the cab driver to bring you here." </p><p>"... That's fair."</p><p>"Hm." She settled him on a stool in the infirmary and pulled over a task light, switching it on and giving him a quick once over. "Why do you even wear this? It's so tight and thin you might as well call it body paint. You need something that protects you when you… do whatever it is you did here." </p><p>He pulled off his mask and miraculously there were no fresh bruises. He unfastened the rope ties around his hands and scrubbed at his hair while she bustled around collecting the supplies she would need. She pointed at the sink and he washed up while she set everything out. </p><p>"I had a guy, but he's in prison right now." He gingerly peeled out of his shirt and washed his face and neck. She tossed him a towel and draped another one on the table so he could rest his arms on it when he sat back down. </p><p>"And there's only one guy?"</p><p>"In this case, yeah." </p><p>"Hm." She injected as much skepticism into her tone as she could and pulled on gloves. </p><p>He was quiet as Maggie washed out the scrapes and carefully went over his back with the light and a pair of tweezers. It was slow and methodical and his breathing remained steady. She applied ointment and a light dressing, then sat back and pulled off the gloves, swiping his shirt for the trash before he could pick it up. </p><p>"No, it will interfere with the dressing and it's full of tears anyway. I'll get you a shirt from the donation bin and you can sit and have a cup of cocoa. Unless… do you have to go out again?"  It was after one but she knew sleep was still out of reach. That was a problem in itself, but it could wait.</p><p>"Cocoa sounds good."  He sounded tentative but not distant, and after the previous day that was all she could really ask.  </p><p>Sitting at the table in the church kitchen, hair mussed, no glasses, and buttoning up a plain blue shirt, Matthew looked years younger despite the dark shadow of stubble. His father scruffed up fast after he shaved as well, skipping it in the morning if he had an evening fight to avoid having to shave twice. Maggie pulled down two mugs as the milk warmed. They were institutional, heavy white ceramic but with a pleasant curve. She had spent many late nights comforted by the warmth of a hot cup in her hands.  </p><p>She hesitated over a cocoa packet suddenly wondering what whey and dehydrated mini-marshmallows must be like for Matthew. Then she shook her head and brought the packet to the stove; he had drunk them for years as a child with all evident enthusiasm.</p><p>"You're not having any?"  Of course he would notice there was only one packet.</p><p>"There's not much caffeine in cocoa, but I avoid it anyway." </p><p>"Is that one of the things…?"</p><p>"That affects bipolar 2? Yes. And not enough sleep, surprise surprise. And you don't need to look so guilty, I was up anyway. Chronic insomnia is an old companion. Hot milk is good for that in its own way, especially with a little help."  She mixed up his cocoa and her hot milk with honey and cinnamon, and set the empty saucepan in the sink with a little water before sitting down. He was very still, suddenly, and she wondered what pitfall she had fallen into this time.</p><p>"Dad would have it that way." And then he scoffed quietly and relaxed, "only he'd add a shot of whiskey."</p><p>"I can't have that either; interactions. But your father was a great believer in the medicinal qualities of whiskey; he got that from your grandmother. In hot milk for sleep, hot toddy for a chest cold, an ounce or two neat for a head cold."  </p><p>"I think I remember her doing that." He took a sip. "I don't think she liked me very much."</p><p>"She didn't like anyone very much." That popped out, unexpectedly bitter, and Maggie hurried to amend it. "She loved fiercely, but she was very unhappy. She lost your grandfather to the ring and she was watching her son do the same. But she so looked forward to you. She talked about you all the time and she made more baby clothes than I really knew what to do with." She had not thought about Mother Murdock in a very long time and some things that had hurt for years had a different resonance now. They were still painful, but possibly more comprehensible. </p><p>"She was so devout; I would've thought she'd have liked you better."  That made Maggie laugh, a sad, tired huff at the irony.</p><p>"People are contradictions, Matthew, you know that. A college degree made me too good for your father, being a foundling made me not good enough, but leaving my novitiate for him? That proved I was fickle. At least that's what I think she thought; she never outright said it. And then I left, and it must have been all her fears made real. I'm afraid you had to deal with the fallout from that as well."</p><p>He shrugged that off. "She was OK, strict. Dad said she was just disappointed because he wasn't smart enough to do anything else. That never made sense to me, because he was really good. If there had been a better talent pool there would have been more good fights and the purses would have been bigger. Lack of talent in the division wasn't his fault." </p><p>Sudden, unexpected outrage took her breath away and Matthew tilted his head at her in concern, so steeped in the commonplaceness of the memory that he had missed the poison dripping from it. Maggie had not realized it had gotten so bad. She had no idea, but why would she?  </p><p>"She didn't talk to you that way, did she?" </p><p>"The only thing I remember her ever really saying was that the Murdock boys have the devil in them. I didn't understand why until the first time I saw Dad in a real fight."</p><p>Maggie breathed deep. She was over thirty years past any right to interfere and both the principles had been beyond help or intervention for almost as long. It was another thing to regret, though.</p><p>"I remember her saying that once. She was warning me off your father, I think. It would have scandalized her if I told her it was why I liked him."  Matthew looked delighted, and a little shocked. </p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"The reason I noticed him, yes. You know when someone so unexpected arrives in your life and you can't look away? Their uniqueness changes everything just by being?"</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah, I do."</p>
<hr/><p>THEN<br/>
Maggie never saw the point in shying away from the real world if she was meant to minister to the people who live in it. She was finally back in Hell's Kitchen, a newly minted novice, and she wanted to see everything. Actually attending a boxing match was perhaps a stretch, but if people liked something so violent, there must be a reason beyond just the gambling, and that was what she was going to tell Sister Katherine if she asked.</p><p>It was loud and smelled of sweat and beer and cigarettes, but the energy was compelling.  And while she did not see the appeal of the pain or the blood, she would have to be predisposed against the sport to miss the skill involved, and the determination. There was something admirable in accepting the inevitability of the pain and then persevering through it.</p><p>The one fighter, Jack Murdock, she could tell he had already won even though his opponent did not seem to realize it yet. She could see it in the way he moved, in his resolve. He just needed to let everyone else know, too.</p><p>Later Sister Clara told her that he had been flirting. Maggie never noticed that sort of thing and scoffed. </p><p>"I'm a novice. I wear the veil! Why would any sensible man flirt with someone practically a nun?"</p><p>"Men flirt with everyone." Clara said like it was obvious.</p><p>The next time Maggie saw Jack he was attending mass with his mother. She recognized Mrs Murdock from church events and went up to say hello. Mrs Murdock went to ask Father Lantom a question regarding Father Allen's health, and she was left with Jack. He looked slightly uncomfortable, and curiously smaller with more clothes on. </p><p>"Your mother misses Father Allen a great deal."</p><p>"Yeah. Father Lantom's a good guy, Sister, but Ma knew Father Allen all her life, you know. It's hard to adjust."</p><p>"I understand; it's very different without him. But how has your boxing been going?" She realized she had no concept of boxing terminology, but it seemed to put him at ease anyway.</p><p>"It's alright. Have you been to any more fights?" His smile took on a teasing edge.</p><p>"It was very educational, but I think once was enough."</p><p>Mrs Murdock had volunteered Jack to help set up the spring fair, and two weeks later he spent the morning moving tables and chairs, helping the musicians set up their mini-stage, and even carried out the coffee urns for Sister Pat.</p><p>After that, Maggie noticed how often her path crossed with Jack Murdock's. Hell's Kitchen was not very large and he was everywhere in it, whether training to keep up his impressive physical condition or picking up odd jobs delivering appliances and moving furniture or loading stock. He would always say hello, she would ask after his mother, and if their paths went in the same direction they would chat for the duration. Briefly shared sidewalks became comfortable detours the long way around the block. Idle chitchat became conversations about hopes and fears and faith. Clara said he had stopped flirting. Maggie said he had never flirted at all. They were friends, good ones.  </p><p>And then one day after a year of Jack slowly becoming one of the most important people in Maggie's life, she realized that her feelings were warmer than they should be. She wanted things and it made no sense. She was twenty-five years old and had never been interested in romance, never seen the point, never felt the draw. It was something other people did, and the power it held over them had been mystifying. When other postulants had talked about how they sometimes struggled to let that part of themselves go, she doubted she ever had that part. So why now? She had wanted nothing more than to become a sister for over half her life. Why, when she was less than a year from taking temporary vows, was she suddenly wanting something she had never thought of before, and seeing a different future as a possibility?</p><p>The thing that made it burn intolerably bright in her imagination was, while she could not tell if Jack was flirting, she could absolutely tell that he <em>loved</em> her. Now that she was looking at him with something like interest, she could see it when he looked at her and hear it in his voice. It was in how his body tendered its space to hers, and how too, like a planet around a star, he nevertheless never touched her. </p><p>Maggie's faith in and love for God had never wavered, but this was a crisis of self and the self could be so frail. She prayed for weeks, asked for guidance, debated what kind of test this might be. She avoided Jack, and felt a physical pain when one day she accidentally made eye contact across the churchyard, and he smiled sadly, nodded, and walked away.</p><p>Father Lantom found her in the garden later that afternoon, a paper napkin torn to shreds in her hands, and her eyes dry and burning.</p><p>"Maggie, you're still free to make this choice. What do you want?"</p><p>"I don't know! I've always known, and now I don't know!"</p><p>He held her hand as she wept, mourning something she had held precious for so long. When she had cried herself dry, she went to talk to Sister Katherine.</p><p>A year later, she and Jack exchanged vows in the sacrament of marriage in Clinton Church and she had never been happier.</p><p>It was two years later, in the midst of their greatest joy, that her world collapsed into nightmare. Maggie did not know what postpartum psychosis was, none of them did. All she knew was that something evil was coming. She could not sleep. She had failed a test, and they would all be punished for what she had done or not done. It was ghosting through the streets hunting for Jack instead of her; it should be her. She was the unclean one; it should be her. She lost time. It was scratching outside the windows and door reaching for little Matty. She had to be vigilant but she still lost sight of it. She blinked and it was gone. No, no, no, now it was whispering in the walls of their home. The evil was inside.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>NOW<br/>
Maggie passed a street vendor and the plastic clamshell was in her hands before she entirely realized it. They were surprisingly inexpensive, these prepaid cellphones.</p><p>Sister Anne had been urging Maggie to have her own phone for a very long time, since her promotion in fact. St Agnes' office manager cited the increased efficiency given her many responsibilities, frequent trips off-campus, and her extensive contacts in the parish and beyond. There was nothing to object to in a simple device without social media, and it would cut the messages their receptionist had to field down to a dull roar. Furthermore, she could check her email more easily. She was the only administrator without a cell phone at this point.</p><p>She suddenly felt foolish. She should have Sister Anne order her one on the same plan as all the others. She put the phone back and hurried on before she had to acknowledge why she wanted an <em>anonymous</em> cellphone. </p><p>"It's about time," Anne said later, looking pleased. "Welcome to the 21st Century. Just take the phone you usually use since you already know how it works. I'll let everyone know that's your dedicated number now." She retrieved it and a spare charger from a locked filing cabinet. Maggie turned the familiar black brick phone over in her hands.</p><p>"I think this still counts as 20th Century."</p><p>"It's still more up to date than that voicemail number you keep. Do you still want to hold on to that now that you have your own phone?" </p><p>She had not considered that.</p><p>"Let's keep it for another month or two, just until everyone knows I have this number now." </p><p>"Sure thing," she said, and that was that.</p><p>The majority of contacts were easily populated from the recent calls list. The first really personal number she added was for her doctor, out of a sense of propriety. She connected the call for the second number.</p><p>"Nelson, Murdock, and Page, Page speaking." </p><p>"Oh!" Maggie quickly reorganized her thoughts. "Karen, this is Sister Maggie. I didn't realize; I thought the answering service was still picking up." </p><p>"Sister Maggie, yes! We're waiting on a callback, so we're answering until it comes in. We're still not properly open until Monday. What can I help you with?"</p><p>"I'll be quick. I just wanted to let you all know that I have a cell phone number now, this number. So, I can be reached directly."</p><p>"That's great! I'll let the guys know. Is this alright to use for… extracurriculars?"</p><p>"Well, it's a St Agnes phone, but it's for my own use so yes, using judgement."</p><p>"Duly noted!"</p><p>They hung up and shortly after she received a text from a new number. </p><p>
  <i>This is Karen, fyi.</i>
</p><p>A text from another new number showed just a square box, and she wondered if she regretted getting a phone.</p><p>Maggie opened the qwerty keyboard and slowly typed out <i>Who is this?</i></p><p>She received a reply almost instantly. <i>sry Foggy</i>.</p><p>She debated replying when the phone began to ring from another unfamiliar number. She answered it cautiously.</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"It's Matt, sorry about Foggy. He said he was texting, and if it isn't for work it's incomprehensible." She could hear Foggy protesting in the background <i>I'll have you know texting is a millennial art form!</i> and Matthew's response, <i>Three words, Foggy, text-to-speech!</i> "Sorry. I don't usually send texts; this is my cell."</p><p>"His message was just a box?" </p><p>Matthew directed his question aside again, <i>What's the box supposed to be?</i> The reply was too soft to make out. "Your phone must not support it; he sent a dinosaur. I'm guessing emoji aren't the best way to communicate with you."</p><p>"Since this phone is also a dinosaur, he should think better of it, yes."</p><p>"I have been known to text with… extracurriculars. Not emoji, just to send a quick heads up when calling isn't a good idea. If that's alright."</p><p>"I'm sure I'll figure it out. How hard could it be when children do it all the time?"</p><p>He was quiet for a moment and she heard a soft sound like the closing of a door. </p><p>"Uh, so, right, um."</p><p>"Spit it out, Matthew."</p><p>"I was wondering why the phone. Now, I mean."</p><p>Maggie took a deep breath and wondered how good the microphone was, if he could hear her choosing her words. She could not tell him that the thought of him sitting alone outside and her not knowing was a knife through her heart. She could definitely not promise to always be there; she had already broken that one too many times. </p><p>"Well, it's convenient, isn't it? And discreet. If you… need anything." She grimaced. That was terrible.</p><p>"Yeah," Matthew's voice was soft. "Alright. Thank you. I'll text you later from, you know."</p><p>"Good." She said, firmly. "You can always call this number."</p><p>That evening she learned that the vibrate setting was still audible if the room was quiet enough, much to Anne's amusement. But when a text from a new number came through as she was preparing for bed, it was her laugh that was loud in the quiet room. </p><p><a id="return1" name="return1"></a><i>Isaiah 1:17,</i>  the number declared.<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="return2" name="return2"></a><i>Mat 4:6,</i> she returned, smiling.<sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup> </p>
<hr/><p>THEN<br/>
She could not clearly remember the time before she arrived at the motherhouse, only knowing it was full of desperate fear. But she had been adamant that the motherhouse was where she had to be, that it was the only place she could fix everything. Returning to religious life was a comfort but also a struggle. She was given time and contemplation to heal but even after she finally assured everyone that she was better, Maggie found her old spirit was spent. Prayer was a solace when she felt torn or grieving and the rosary brought quietude, but still she found herself in tears for no reason. She would be doing some task and find her face wet and the other sisters gathering around her asking what was wrong. She never had a satisfactory answer. And though the routine was a shelter, exhaustion tugged at her bones. If she could sleep, she thought, she would be past this. It was just lack of sleep, but sleep was the balm that eluded her most nights. </p><p>Maggie took her temporary vows as a sister and finally returned to St Agnes four years after she had left Hell's Kitchen. Unlike before she stayed mostly on campus, never venturing far from the grounds unless absolutely necessary. The world had moved on but Sister Katherine was still in charge, and she was just as uncompromising as always but also just as kind. The sisters gathered her into their embrace and celebrated her return with deep and abiding warmth. Father Lantom also proved a good friend, mitigating the awkwardness of her return as much as he could. Despite the memories and the insomnia, returning was invigorating. Maggie threw herself into her work with new energy, relieved and grateful. This was the way it was supposed to be. These children were not hers, but they needed her. She could be theirs; she could bandage their cuts and scrapes, cool their fevers, and be the gentle touch to soothe them after night terrors. </p><p>Maggie remained circumspect about her past life and rarely saw them. Jack would still attend mass with his mother, looking impossibly broader and more sturdy. Little Matty was impish and bright, tiny while holding his father's hand or tucked up against his shoulder when he got tired. The curve of his little head and the cowlick that stood up in the back when he had had a haircut echoed with a sense memory in her hands, but the arc her fingers formed was too small. She refused to let herself look too long or too closely. That was no longer her place and she had given up the right. </p><p>Jack knew she was back, of course; it was only fair and she had looked up his new number and called. But he accepted her wishes and did not look for her. If their eyes met accidentally in the church, his face would tighten and he would look away. If Mother Murdock saw her, her mouth would twist and she would pretend Maggie did not exist. To the Murdocks she was a ghost and everyone followed their lead. It was a tragedy that Maggie Murdock had died young, but Sister Maggie Grace had always been in the church.</p><p>It went this way for the next few years and slowly people forgot or never knew she had ever had a different life. She settled into a routine and it became normal. She took her permanent vows joyously and with deep gratitude. There was always too much to do and never enough hands to do it, so there was not much time for regret except late at night alone with her prayers. She knew, at least, that Jack was rock steady, a good and loving father, and that he would do everything for Matty that she could not. Life would still be good for them.</p><p>After Mother Murdock passed, Jack and Matty were a rarer sight at mass, and she supposed that was inevitable. The newer sisters would occasionally comment on Battlin' Jack's bad luck in the ring, a local celebrity with not enough fights, leading to not enough purses. But she knew Jack was good at what he did, and he had no illusions. He would work where he could; he and Matty would be alright.</p><p>The accident stunned her. She listened to the message twice before she could comprehend what had happened, Jack's shaking voice asking her to come, saying Matty needed her, that their baby had been maimed, that he did not know what to do.</p><p>She went, of course she went, nothing could have kept her away. But she avoided Jack. She waited until he, bloodshot and frayed, had left the room and she could be an anonymous nun.  </p><p>She asked for information on Matty's condition and was denied any but the most general of observations because she was not family. She did not ask again. </p><p>She delicately fitted her hand to the curve of Matty's head for the first time since he was three weeks old, and prayed over him as he whimpered in his sleep for his father.</p><p>She left the research she had collected on medical financial assistance and resources for the blind sitting on the overbed table. She told herself she was sensitive to something at the hospital that made it difficult to breathe which is why she had to keep her visits short, and only while Matty was sleeping. The day after Matty went home, she had Father Lantom approach Jack with a two week rota of meals from the congregation and the collection they had pulled together in a hasty church fundraiser. And she soothed herself knowing that Jack was stronger than she was; he had that implacable center, that unwavering will. He always got back up again. He would see Matty through where she could not. </p><p>She was proved right. Of course she was. Gossip in the parish was full of little Matty Murdock navigating the streets with a walking stick like he had been born with it in his hands. And it looked like Jack's fortunes had shifted too, if he was fighting a high profile match.</p><p>That evening in the library she was going over selections for the upcoming concert with Sister Clara when she realized two of the current group of novitiates were discussing Jack. Clara gave her a worried look, never entirely comfortable with reminders of Maggie's past.</p><p>"I heard he won by knockout. Do you think that pays better?"</p><p>"Maybe? Do you think that means he can retire? He's getting pretty old, isn't he?"</p><p>Thirty-nine, Maggie thought to herself, slightly offended on his behalf. He had a few good years left in him if he was careful. It was true that he was not often careful in the ring, taking hits to give them, but he was better than the fights he took.</p><p>"Maggie," Father Lantom had come in, his voice was terrible and he looked white as a sheet. "Give us the room," he told the others. Clara quickly ushered everyone out and closed the door softly after herself.  "Maggie, Jack… Jack's been killed."</p><p>He kept talking, she could see his mouth move, but her ears were full of ringing. Her lips were numb and she could not feel her hands.</p><p>"Where's Matty?"  His mouth moved but she still could not hear him. She smacked a fist against her ear to try and clear it. "Where is he?!"</p><p>"CPS, Maggie!"  Paul caught her hands. "The police turned him over to CPS when they realized....  He's safe, Maggie. He's safe!" </p><p>It was late. It was too late and there was nothing to be done that night. Paul was right and he told her what they would do the next day, how they would help. It depended on Jack's wishes, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, pressed back on the wrongness that was talking about Jack in the past tense. Her mind would not stop turning over and over. Paul poured them each a shot from Sister Pat's medicinal whiskey and told her to go to bed. She was too numb to feel the burn, but she went through the motions, putting away the song books and sheet music, stopping at the desk phone to check her messages. </p><p>One new message. To listen to your messages press 1.</p><p>
  <i>Hey, it's, uh, it's me. I'm about to go do something… Well… I'm about to go be me….</i>
</p><p>Paul ran back into the room as she collapsed to the floor clutching the receiver, a thin high wail tearing from her like she was being sucked into the vacuum of space until she was empty.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><a id="note1" name="note1"></a><sup>1</sup> learn to do good;<br/>seek justice,<br/>correct oppression;<br/>defend the fatherless,<br/>plead for the widow.<br/>- Isaiah 1:17 <sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note2" name="note2"></a><sup>2</sup> And [the devil] said to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, 'He will give his angels charge of you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against the stone.'"<br/>-Matthew 4:6 <sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>NOW<br/>
The text that arrived in the early afternoon was from the 'extracurricular' number and just said <i>9pm?</i> Maggie took that to mean she was not obligated to see him if she could not. It felt imperative anyway. </p><p>She responded in the affirmative and then received a message from Matthew's regular number with a text file attached containing a local street address. The message read: <i>Roof unlocked, buzz 6A, stairs</i>.</p><p>At the appointed time, she followed the instructions and trekked the seven stories to the roof where the door was ajar.  Matthew was standing near the parapet dressed in a fresh set of his black pyjamas, masked but without the ropes caging his hands. </p><p>"It's a good thing I live an active lifestyle," she said drily and he smiled. </p><p>"I wanted to show you something."</p><p>She joined him by the parapet. He was quiet and she took it to mean this was what she was to see, so she thought about how he perceived the world and closed her eyes. </p><p>The air had been still at street level but it was moving softly on the roof. The breeze was cool but the dark roof had soaked up sun all day and was pleasantly warm, even if it had that mineral smell of brickwork and the bitter odor of old tar paper. The sounds drifting up from the street were varied. The low level murmur of undifferentiated noise that passed for quiet in the city would be broken by a distant bray of laughter, the swift passing of a car, or footsteps that ended with the sound of a door. It was unplanned but not entirely random, with a curious rhythm to it, almost like the breathing and rustling in church. <i>Oh,</i> she thought. </p><p>"It's beautiful," she said, opening her eyes. An electronic billboard was far too close, its message pixelated and elusive, but it provided more than enough light to see by. It was difficult to judge without seeing his eyes but there was something sad in the way he was standing. "Why am I here, Matthew?"</p><p>"Dad never knew," he shrugged as if that explained it. Maybe it did.</p><p>"There are so many things I regret, Matthew. Leaving your father to struggle alone is my other greatest shame."</p><p>"He was enough, I don't ever want you to think he wasn't enough."</p><p>"There's no world that could exist where Jack Murdock wouldn't move heaven and earth for you, I know that."  Matthew laughed bitterly.</p><p>"I wish he'd have stuck around to prove it. I keep trying to understand why he'd do it; for the longest time I thought it was because I asked."</p><p>"Oh, Matthew."</p><p>"No, I get it, he did it because he wanted to; dying was less important than winning. He couldn't think I needed the money more than I needed him." He sniffed and smiled, a brief fake thing. "See? Not my fault."</p><p>"It was never your fault, Matthew, but winning wasn't…," she remembered that voicemail message, the resignation in Jack's voice and the resolve. "He wanted you to think well of him, of course he did. You idolized your father! But your father stepped into the punches; that was what he knew how to do. Let them hit you until--"</p><p>"Their hands break."</p><p>"Yes, but life doesn't work that way. There's only so much a body can take. He'd been a fighter for almost twenty years; that's a long time for a heavyweight with his style. He was looking at just a few more years at most."</p><p>"So, he despaired," he said like she had confirmed his fears. The dullness in Matthew's voice broke her heart.</p><p>"I don't know what your father was thinking when he made that choice, but I believe he did it in hope. Not the sin of despair or that of pride, but a risk worth taking to give you a better future. I know he thought I would step up, and that I didn't was my sin and my failing, not his."</p><p>"I never wanted that sacrifice from him!"</p><p>"Don't you take that risk every time you go out there like this?"</p><p>His face twisted up in annoyance and he brushed his hands like he was pushing something away.</p><p>"What I do is not a sacrifice, and it's not the same. I was a kid; I didn't have anyone else! I don't have that kind of responsibility to anyone." </p><p>She held her tongue on that point, saying only "I suppose I should have anticipated something like this. You were always so angry and impatient with unfairness as a child."</p><p>"I thought I had gotten Dad killed and my senses kept getting stronger. Of course I was angry."</p><p>"There were so many things I missed when you were with us at St Agnes. It all seems so dubious now, but at the time, any excuse appeared more rational than the things we didn't understand."  </p><p>"Yeah, I mean looking back, who would have left a kid alone with someone like Stick?" The sarcasm was thick in his voice.</p><p>"Who?" She had a sense of looming dread. </p><p>"... Stick? Old blind man, about this tall, talked like everyone else was stupid and he was tired of putting up with it?"</p><p>"You must mean Mr Hoyt." She could not seem to catch her breath. "What did he do to you, Matthew?" He seemed wrongfooted and at a loss for words. "Matthew?!"</p><p>"It's okay! I mean, it wasn't okay, but it's okay!" He pulled his mask off and scrubbed a hand through his hair.</p><p>Maggie took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Nothing she did now would change what was past, and Matthew looked spooked. </p><p>"We didn't know what to do for you," she explained. "Some thought you were acting out and needed discipline, but you were in such obvious pain. Mr Hoyt was referred to us by trusted people, so highly recommended for work with troubled children, and you improved so dramatically even after he was called away. We never saw any signs that he--"  Maggie felt sick.</p><p>"No, it wasn't that. God, no. He was grooming me for a war, not that. And if he touched me it was to hit me so I'd fight harder." </p><p>"<em>What?!</em>"  He winced. "I'm sorry, no, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. This is enough that I can spread the word he is not to be-, if he's even still-, but he certainly can't…. Oh Matthew, I am so sorry. I have failed you over and over again."  She swallowed and breathed, trying to compose herself. He looked uncomfortable, and strangely sheepish.  </p><p>"Uh, he's very, very dead. And while I will be the first to say he was a grade A asshole, I'm also not entirely sorry he trained me." </p><p>"I don't understand."</p><p>Matthew sighed and turned to another roof access door. "Maybe this will go better if we sit down." </p><p>He led her down some stairs into a darkened loft apartment, the light from the ever-present billboard still cycling outside the windows and letting her see her way.</p><p>"Sit anywhere you like, would you like some water or some tea? Uh, I have mint. Let me get a light."  He switched on a swing-armed lamp in the kitchen area that lit the area indifferently and her suspicion was confirmed that yes, this was his home. </p><p>"Water's fine, thank you." She looked around, relieved to see enough chairs for company and a lived-in feel despite the cavernous ceiling and bare walls.</p><p>He poured them each a glass from a pitcher in the refrigerator. "Stick took advantage of a vulnerable kid and then dumped me when he realized he couldn't turn me into what he wanted. He was always saying winning the coming war was more important than anything else, that anything he did to make that happen no matter how horrible was justified because the alternative was worse." He put down a glass for her as she sat at the table and he settled across from her. "But he taught me how to use my senses, to fight, and to take control of my surroundings when I was lost. And then there was Elektra, too. I can't separate the bad from the good and say I wish we had never met. They're too closely tied."</p><p>"This war, is it real?"</p><p>"Yeah, but it's done. It's how I ended up under a building," he said with a wry twist to his lips.</p><p>"Well," she said, not knowing what to think.</p><p>"Yeah."  </p><p>"Was… this what you asked me here to talk about?"</p><p>He turned his glass around a few times. "No, well, maybe, but not just Dad, or Stick. Mostly I wanted to ask why you never told me."</p><p>"Ah." There it was. She had been waiting for this.</p><p>"When I confronted Father Lantom, I wasn't ready to listen and that's all he wanted from me. I can't take back what I said to him, but… well, I can listen." </p><p>"I was scared, Matthew, and ashamed. Nothing more. There was no good reason, no logical excuse. I told myself comforting lies, and the longer it went the more impossible it became. It was selfish of me, and cowardly. I should have let you have the chance to know me as your mother and I should have been there for your father." She could tell that he was still missing it. "I was afraid you wouldn't love me, so I made it so you couldn't have an opinion. Stupid, I know."</p><p>He was silent for a long moment. "I thought I would feel better if I knew."</p><p>"It doesn't always work that way. Believe me, I wish it did."</p><p>'You have this whole relationship with me that I didn't know about. You have to know that's strange for me, even without the rest of it."</p><p>"I know."</p>
<hr/><p>THEN<br/>
When Father Lantom asked Maggie when she would tell Matty, she said Matthew had suffered enough just now and did not need any more shocks.  Jack had named Paul executor of his will after Mother Murdock got sick and had never changed it. And so the work of wrapping up Jack's assets fell to them as well. Maggie took charge behind the scenes, wrangling with the city and the court and making phone calls and anticipating as many needs as she could to make Matthew's transition into their guardianship as smooth as possible. And then she locked up her heart as tightly as she could. She would treat Matthew no differently than any of the other children. They were all in pain; they all needed and deserved her love and care and attention.</p><p>Paul asked again a couple days after the first time. And then again the next day. Each time, she found an excuse. Finally, she just told him no. </p><p>"He needs you, Maggie!"</p><p>"He needs structure and security. Telling him won't change anything!"</p><p>"You don't know that. He's alone in the world; you could change that!"</p><p>"He isn't alone; he has all of us! And what would be different if he knew? What part of his life would be better? He'd still be in the orphanage, I'd still be a sister, <em>his father would still be dead!</em>" She took a deep breath. "Either I'm his mother or I'm not. If I'm his mother, I get to decide."</p><p>"That's no choice at all, Maggie." She walked away.  </p><p>Things settled down. No matter how significant the upheaval, things always do even if they are profoundly changed. Paul held off for a month before mentioning telling Matthew again. He changed tactics and mused on ways it would help the boy. Maggie changed tactics by ignoring the suggestions as if they had never been made, and eventually they became rarer. She could discuss her shortcomings and regrets with Paul, and she did, but telling <em>Matthew</em> was never an option. </p><p>She watched Matthew wall himself off, grow isolated and strange, and after Mr Hoyt, throw himself back into the world again leading with his fists. At least that was something she understood. So many of the children she had cared for over the years, so many still in her care, had done the same. The fights, however, were getting out of control.</p><p>Maggie heard a scuffling sound down the hall and walked faster. Scuffling sounds and pained grunts <em>never</em> meant anything good. When she turned the corner, she found two boys entangled, the smaller one standing over the larger. He was gripping the larger boy's arm at a sharp angle with both hands while the larger boy hunched over, flailing his other arm and cursing. Matthew again, of course, and Eric, a day student. </p><p>"You're crazy; let go of me you little shithead!" </p><p>"What's going on here? Matthew, let Eric go." He immediately let the other boy go and straightened, not a hair out of place. Eric was sweaty and disheveled and curled forward a bit over his arm.</p><p>"Hello, Sister," Matthew said, to all appearances unconcerned.</p><p>"Well, which of you is going to tell me what's going on? Eric?" He was silent. "Matthew?"</p><p>"I was just showing him a self defense move I learned."  His smile was virtuous and entirely full of shit. </p><p>"Eric, is this true?"  </p><p>The older boy looked resentful and cut his eyes sideways, "Yes, Sister." </p><p>"Hm, report to the infirmary and have Sister Louisa look at your arm. And don't think I didn't hear your language, I'll be talking to you about that later." Eric gave Matthew a dark look before making tracks.</p><p>"Well, Matthew?"</p><p>"Yes, Sister?"</p><p>"Matthew."</p><p>"I really did show him a self defense move I learned. … Because he was shoving me."</p><p>"And is there a reason you didn't want to tell me this?"  Matthew sighed. "Well?"</p><p>"He's always bumping into me on purpose and getting in my face and pushing me around. If I tell, then he gets mad and gets even. If I take care of it myself, he won't do it again."  He looked a little disgruntled. "I didn't hit him; isn't that better? You're all always going on about fights and I didn't start a fight; I ended one."</p><p>"Well, I agree you shouldn't hit him, and he should not hit you. You need to tell someone when things like this happen."  He appeared to dismiss her concern.</p><p>"It's alright, I don't think he'll do it again." </p><p>"That's not what I mean, Matthew."  </p><p>"Alright, I promise I'll tell someone if he does it again."  She waited. "And if anyone else does it either."</p><p>"Hm," she had no doubt that he was applying some literalist interpretation to that promise, but she would take what she could get in the moment. "I'm counting on you, Matthew." </p><p>He sighed and slumped a little and his "I promise, Sister" was less cocky and more sincere.</p><p>"Meanwhile, I think the object lesson could be a little more public and a little less personal? What do you think." He looked confused. "If everyone knows you can throw a punch instead of the rumor mill speculating on it, maybe they won't need to prove it for themselves. Let's sign you up for boxing. " </p><p>"<em>Really?!</em>  The look on his face could have stopped traffic.</p><p>"Yes, really."  She startled a little when he dove in and hugged her in a fleeting but fierce grip. He retreated before her arms could lower. "I'll take care of it today. Now, off with you; I'm sure you have things you're supposed to be doing."</p><p>"Thank you, Sister!" he said wholeheartedly before running off leaving her alone in the empty corridor.</p><p>She took a deep breath and pressed her shaking hands to her face, breathing out slowly. No, she could not tell him.</p><p>Paul never actually stopped suggesting she tell him because he somehow intuited that she wanted Matthew to know, but the step of telling him was always where she faltered. Even after Matthew aged out and headed off to college, Paul would bring it up occasionally.</p><p>St Agnes seemed much quieter without Matthew. His tendency to get into fights might have faded as he got older and developed wider interests and healthier outlets, but he had a presence. Or perhaps it was because they had fewer children at the moment. That was it, of course. Maggie took advantage of the lull and finally told her primary care physician that her insomnia had become unmanageable. He prescribed trazodone for sleep.</p><p>When Maggie stopped sleeping more than three hours a night but insisted that she felt much better and that she was much more productive with all the extra hours, they all realized something was wrong.  It took another doctor's visit and a referral to a psychiatrist to understand what it might be.  Depression was not entirely a surprise, but hypomania was a shock.</p><p>"This was an anomaly. But surely having energy is normal," she protested.</p><p>"It's not really, at least not what you're describing," Dr Mason said.</p><p>Over the weeks they went over her past with a new eye and it slowly sank in that her bursts of increased productivity were, in fact, not normal. And then they talked about when Matthew was born. She learned that what she had was not postpartum depression, and that it was very rare. She learned that these days hospitalization was typical, that there were treatments, that it could be managed, that it could be recovered from. She learned that it might have marked the onset of the bipolar disorder that they were on their way to diagnosing and managing.</p><p>She was quiet when she returned to St Agnes with new prescriptions for an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer and several fact sheets on drug interactions, and behaviors to avoid or cultivate. She laughed without humor when she realized the regular schedule at the motherhouse had been beneficial. And when she closed the door that night for bed she lay in the dark and wept. She cried for all the years of pain she had accepted as normal, for the not knowing and for the things she had done not knowing. She cried for the life that she never had, and the regrets that had accumulated like dead leaves. And she cried a little in relief, too, that it was real, and bad, and not just a weakness that she should have been able to overcome on her own. She cried and cried and cried, and then she slept.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Smol Matty used a standing armbar.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>THEN<br/>
There was a full grown man in her infirmary, more bruise than flesh. <em>Daredevil was in her infirmary</em> possibly dying. Too many sisters were gathered around him plucking ineffectually at his ridiculous costume with craft scissors, of all things. What on <em>earth</em> was Paul thinking? Maggie was on the phone to 911 when Paul said <i>It's Matthew, Jack Murdock's son.</i> and the world stopped for a moment. </p><p>They found the wire cutters and cut him out of his suit, doing their best to stabilize him. She was reassured when he reacted to their touch, but he never rose out of his daze.  When they finally had an idea of his injuries and that he was in no immediate danger, Maggie swore everyone to secrecy, set Sister Veronica to watching him, and sent everyone else to their neglected duties. Then she pulled Paul into his office to yell at him.</p><p>"Seal of confession, Maggie. I couldn't tell you."</p><p>"And you couldn't <em>stop</em> him?!"</p><p>"Think about whose son he is. Do you really think anyone could have stopped him?"</p><p>She pressed her hands over her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. </p><p>"And did you have to announce to the entire room that he's Jack's son? His name, even? What's the point of keeping him out of the hospital <em>which he needs</em> when you're going to tell everyone who he is anyway?!"</p><p>"I have faith we can keep him safe, Maggie. We keep our secrets here, you know that better than anyone."</p><p>"Don't you start, Paul."</p><p>"The younger sisters will accept what I have said and follow your lead. And the ones who remember? They'll follow your lead. Matthew may be one of ours, but you are also one of ours." Tears burned suddenly in her nose and she scoffed them away. </p><p>That afternoon after she ordered some supplies she knew they did not have and caught up on the work that had been thrown aside in the emergency, she went back to the infirmary and sent Sister Veronica off to dinner.  She would need to make a rota, as if there were not enough things to be doing.</p><p>They had washed his face and skin in the course of identifying and treating his wounds, but Matthew's hair was still gritty and caked stiff in places. No broken skin, small mercies.  </p><p>She lifted his head, careful of his bruises and the cuts on his face, and removed the pillow, quickly arranging the rolled towels and the plastic sheet. His eyes were half open again, but they sank slowly closed as she gently sponged away the dirt with a warm washcloth.</p><p>If she looked under the blanket at his bandaged torso she would see skin littered with too many bruises and so many old scars. She had seen him bare before they bandaged and wrapped everything, needing help to lift and turn him. The scars seemed too many to count, crisscrossing his skin in a record of suffering.</p><p>How was any of this possible? How could she not have known?</p><p>She blotted his clean hair carefully, delicately combing the damp strands to get them dry. Finally, she settled him on the pillow again, her hand cupped tenderly around his skull, feeling the cowlick on the back of his head against her fingers. </p><p>"What are we going to do with you, Matthew?" She murmured. She spent the next few hours sitting with him and her rosary before calling on one of the younger sisters to sit with him overnight.</p><p>In the morning, Maggie was greeted by his beaten bandaged skin when she went to check on him and see if he would drink some broth. She pulled the blanket up from where it was lying over his legs and fixed it back over his shoulders.</p><p>At the lunch hour she went with a more substantial strained soup and to change his dressings, and found the blanket tossed aside again. </p><p>"Is he suddenly non-stick? Why is his blanket falling on the floor?" Maggie asked as she draped it over him again, tucking it up around his shoulders.</p><p>Sister Anne, who had volunteered for midday since she could answer email anywhere, looked wry.</p><p>"Just watch."</p><p>Maggie watched. Matthew was still in a stupor, not properly awake at any given moment, but after a few minutes she saw movement under the blanket. His left hand slowly inched up his chest and then flung out weakly, throwing the blanket off of him. </p><p>"What on earth?"</p><p>"He does that every time, without fail. I thought it was better not to try and force it.</p><p>"He can barely function and he's still stubborn as a mule." Maggie huffed, suddenly profoundly relieved, and went to turn up the thermostat.</p>
<hr/><p>NOW<br/>
Maggie walked through the schoolyard where they had set up their mini-maker faire, admiring the booths and running a critical eye over the layout. The volunteers had done a good job helping out and every booth had set up on time. The children appeared to be enjoying themselves and guests from the community were slowly increasing as the Saturday morning wore on, bright and clear.</p><p>"Sister Maggie!"  Foggy popped out from between the leatherworking booth and the arduino pavilion holding the hand of a vaguely familiar blond woman. "I wanted to introduce you to Marci, Marci, this is Sister Maggie!" They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. </p><p>"The faire is wonderful, Sister. I'm impressed you were able to get actual blacksmiths!" Marci said.</p><p>"It was interesting discussing the requirements with the fire department, but I think it was worth the extra effort. The children were very excited at the prospect." There was a fascinated knot of children standing outside the rope barrier that encircled the blacksmith corner. </p><p>"I'll bet! I know you're busy so we'll let you get on with things. Just wanted to say 'hi' and let you know we're here. Karen is somewhere by the silk screening and Matt got kidnapped by some fans on the way in."</p><p>"Thank you for letting me know, Foggy. By the way, there will be tie dyeing later by the path to the garden? I thought it might be a good friend group activity. Shirts are $5." Foggy lit up.</p><p>"You thought absolutely right! We're all going to make one, all four of us!"  Marci laughed and rolled her eyes. </p><p>"Thank you, Sister. It was nice meeting you." </p><p>Maggie continued to walk the faire, checking in with the different booths and keeping an eye on the children. </p><p>She found Matthew sitting with Jason and Andrew and a few other children at the fiber arts table. He was frowning in concentration, his lower lip pushed out a little, with a small rectangular strip in his hands. He manipulated the hook slowly but without hesitation. </p><p>"Sister! Andrew is teaching us to knit!" </p><p>"Crochet!" Andrew said, longsuffering, like he had said it many times already. The hook in his fingers was moving quickly and confidently on a sampler scarf as he spoke. "It's crochet, Tina. Knitting has two needles, not one."</p><p>"Very nice, Tina." Maggie admired the jumble of brightly colored yarn in the five year old's grip. It turned out to be an impressively long crochet chain. "You seem to be doing well, Andrew. How are your students?"  She looked over at Matthew, who had paused his work.</p><p>"They're okay," Andrew said, looking around the table at the admirable concentration by a small group of children under 12. Matthew went to put down the hook and yarn and stand, but Andrew quickly interjected.  "Matt, if you gotta go you can take it with you. You're doing real good. Pull the loop big and tie a slip knot; then it won't come undone even if the hook falls out." He rummaged around for a bit. "Here's another ball, you're gonna need at least two."</p><p>Matthew's hands lingered over the brightly colored yarn before firming up. "Thanks, Drew," his smile was warm in his voice. "You're a good teacher; I'll have to come find you when I need to learn the next bit." He put his hand out for a fistbump and Andrew cheerfully followed through, and then all the other children at the table insisted on fist bumping as well.</p><p>They moved away from the table to let others take their place.</p><p>"So, are you ready for the office to open on Monday?"</p><p>"More than ready. It'll be good to have a proper office again, and I'm tired of cleaning. Moving in seems to accumulate trash; it's reproducing whenever we leave the room."</p><p>Maggie looked sideways at Matthew as they walked away, the yarn a colorful splash distending his jacket pockets. </p><p>"Did Andrew choose the yarn for you?"</p><p>"No, I liked the feel. Why?"</p><p>"It has black and red in it. Well, and it's also blue and yellow, but you could have picked Tina's yarn which looks like an explosion in a princess factory."</p><p>"Huh, I wonder if that's why he was so tickled when I chose it." He pulled the little rectangle out of his pocket still attached to its ball by a long strand and let her feel it. "Most of the other yarn felt like carpeting. This one's not so bad for a scarf."</p><p>She looked at his stitches; they were careful and neat and the colors were clumping together in dotted zigzags. The end result would be extraordinarily garish. She handed it back and he gathered up the loose yarn and tucked it all back in his pocket. It was wonderful.</p><p>"What else would you like to make today?" She offered her elbow and he took it as they started walking again. "I warn you, Foggy intends to rope you into tie dyeing."  Matthew's face crinkled up in a grin.</p><p>"Of course he is. We did that in undergrad, too. I still have the shirt somewhere. No idea what it looks like, but the memory is good."</p><p>She patted his hand lightly and they walked on, chatting comfortably. It would be a good memory.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Matt is using Lion Brand Yarn Rebound in Trampoline. Tina is using Red Heart Supersaver in Bon Bon Print.<br/>Karen is absolutely not looking into what it would take to make N, M, &amp; P baseball shirts.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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